


Light that brightens the darkest hour

by AllyinthekeyofX, Strbck23



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas angst/fluff/smut, F/M, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8959288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyinthekeyofX/pseuds/AllyinthekeyofX, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strbck23/pseuds/Strbck23
Summary: Scully receives an unexpected gift on Christmas Eve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes before we start! From Sarah first (Strbck23)
> 
> 2016 has been the "best year of my life" for the second year in a row. On top of a ton of "real life" adventures, I got new X-Files. And along with that, some amazing friends that share my passion and I love them all.
> 
> It's been a ton of fun collaborating with Alison and working together to feature our individual strengths.
> 
> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone reading this. Peace, love and aliens.
> 
> The line Mulder says about Scully dreaming is from a song Toadies-Pressed Against the Sky. I have totally always wanted to use it and finally got the opportunity. 
> 
> Thanks to Suzanne Feld (WildwingSuz) for a beta read so fast I almost missed it
> 
> Sarah x
> 
>  
> 
> And from me
> 
>  
> 
> Pretty much what Sarah said. I have had more X-Files related fun this year than I think I ever had....and I’m an old gal who remembers the very first time Pilot hit our screens. For me it has been a love affair that has lasted over half my life and which I can’t see ending any time soon.
> 
> I have never wrote a Christmas fic. I have never collaborated. I have loved attempting both.
> 
> Thanks to Sarah, Suzanne, Crispita, Dash and Marissa for giving me a reason to keep doing what I love.
> 
> Peace, Joy and hope to you and yours this festive season.
> 
> I hope you enjoy our combined efforts and remember – Santas reindeers love reviews. The more reviews you leave, the more gifts Santa brings ;)
> 
> Ally x

PART ONE

 

The lights are twinkling on the spruce tree which is a year-round fixture in the small communal space that serves as a garden for the residents who share the old building I call home. The tree has been there since before I moved in, has grown strong and proud over the years, just waiting for the brief period of time each year when it is dressed in Christmas finery that transforms it from drab winter green to a dazzling display of colour that endures through even the darkest night or the fiercest winter storm.

In years past I have rejoiced in the transformation, lain in this bed watching the tiny pin pricks of red, blue, green and orange chasing each other across the needled boughs of this majestic tree, soothed by the almost hypnotic repetition that softly tinges the surface of my painted walls. The flickering hues reminding me of childhood past where Christmas was cloaked in an aura of wonderment, when magic seemed real in a way that offered a future filled with endless possibilities and when life seemed limitless and connections forever constant; a childish certainty that nothing ever really changed, at least not in any tangible way. 

Even as an adult, when I had grown and flourished and supposedly left childish flights of fancy far behind me, this special time of year still managed to hold me in its thrall. The sights, sounds and smells all contributing to a delicious build up of anticipation that imbued me with the spirit of the season even as I tried to temper my enthusiasm; to bring it down a notch to a level more befitting the adult Dana Scully who had long ago replaced magic with science, and wonderment with clinical investigation; and yet I hadn’t ever been able to completely let go of the emotions those memories of Christmas past stirred up within me.

But all that changed abruptly the year my Father died. Because suddenly there was an empty space at the table that no matter how hard we tried, how much we all rallied to compensate by ensuring we celebrated his memory in some small way so as to create the illusion that somehow he was still with us, the loss of him created a chasm within me that nothing could fill. And as the years went on and the losses – the sacrifices – began to stack up, that chasm just kept growing and the bad memories began to overshadow the good until Christmas became nothing more than a collection of painful reminders of everything I had lost over the years. 

Of course I still maintained a careful facade – an illusion that everything was fine – as I hovered on the peripherals of the occasional social gatherings I forced myself to attend, always painfully aware that somehow along the way I had become disconnected from my family, from myself and from everything I used to hold dear. And certainly the last couple of years, the one thing that had kept me sane was the knowledge that at the end of the day I could at least escape back to Mulder and he would, without me needing to say a word, understand me in a way no one else could. 

Our reliance on each other had become so hard to deny that I think on a subconscious level I found myself gravitating towards him simply because, in the absence of any other significant relationship in my life, he quite literally became everything to me; and I know now that it was inevitable that we would eventually cross the line that we had drawn between each other so many years before. A line designed to protect; to temper our growing feelings towards each other lest we become more vulnerable to harm than we already were, to give those intent on our destruction even more opportunity to hurt, to maim, to kill.

But eventually we could deny it no more and after so many years trying fruitlessly to hold each other at arms length I fell so completely, so willingly, that my whole universe just seemed to collapse beneath the weight of his love. And foolishly we allowed ourselves to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could be happy; that finally we could find in each other everything we had sacrificed over the years. That our fractured lives could somehow become whole again if only we could find a way to hold on to each other through the darkness that, no matter how fast we ran towards the light, seemed always to catch up with us, ready to pull us under once again.

This last year has left me wondering more than ever just how much more I can reasonably be expected to take before I unravel so completely that I will simply fall to my knees and never find the strength to get up again. 

Losing Mulder, standing by his open grave under a snow heavy sky as I stared at the polished wooden box that held the body of the man who had died without ever knowing that somehow, against all the odds, we had found our miracle, had left me more broken – more vulnerable and more incomplete than I thought I could ever be. 

And the thought of his legacy that I nurtured within me became the sole reason for my existence; for our baby I forced myself to carry on - as best I could I carried on - holding on to the certainty that he would want me to take care of myself; to not give up on everything we had fought so hard for along the way.

Maybe that’s why I was granted my second miracle, when against all the odds, in direct contrast to everything I had learned through my pursuit of science, Mulder was returned to me and while I floundered hopelessly in the wake of his total detachment from the relationship we had shared for so brief a time, eventually we had found each other again; healing wounds that ran so deep as to seem fathomless even as the darkness threatened to consume us once more.

And for a brief time I allowed myself to believe.

Stupidly I allowed myself to believe.

The look on Mulders face as he cradled his newborn son in his arms as the light shone soft and golden around us, promising a new beginning for us both in a world where maybe, just maybe, we could finally enjoy the kind of normal existence that others took for granted, to finally take recompense for everything we had sacrificed over the years as hope flourished anew within me; an almost forgotten acknowledgement that life did indeed have more to offer.

 

Of course I should have known better because past events should have taught me well enough that perfect happiness is not for us. And while I have been bestowed the gift of my precious child there has, as always, been a price to pay; that nothing in my life has ever been without cost.

Mulder has been gone from our lives now for five long months.

Five months were I have felt the loss of his presence beside me like a knife to my heart. Every second of every day I am consumed with an aching loneliness so intense that sometimes I forget to breathe.

This should have been our Christmas. 

This should have been our time.

But instead I just want it to be over; to be filed away with all the other painful memories I have hidden deep within myself over the years. To finally accept that the happiness that seems to arrive so effortlessly for others is never destined to be ours; that our happy ever after is just not meant to be.

And while others excitedly plan for the season, anticipating a holiday filled with moments of abiding love, of brightly wrapped gifts and expectation of times to come, I find myself closing off more completely than I thought was possible. Because all I want for Christmas is to spend just one moment in time in Mulders arms; to allow myself to feel him, to draw the strength from him I need to carry me through this. To believe that one day we will be together again. 

Because I miss him so much, so completely that on nights like tonight, there is just nothing left. When I lay in this bed listening to the sounds of William as he sleeps just a few feet away from me I feel a physical ache deep inside me that brings with it a realisation that without Mulder in my life, I am simply a shadow; one half of a whole that without him, can hope to only exist without actually living and that tonight, just as I have done on so many nights past, I will allow myself to cry scalding tears of regret that I manage to hide so adeptly during my waking hours. 

That while others dream of bright mornings and gifts beneath the tree, I will dream only of Mulder. 

And much later, when I feel a gentle touch against my cheek, of the weight of his long fingers as he caresses my skin softly, it feels so real that even though I know it isn’t so, I can’t help but murmur his name, feeling the touch on my face still for just a second before his voice brings me gently to wakefulness.

“Ssssshhhh Scully it’s okay. I’m here.”

 

Continued part 2


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

 

Is it Mulder? Is it someone else? Both have me afraid to look. I don’t want to open my eyes and handle the disappointment of him not really being there. If it’s someone else...my heart begins to pound. 

When his hand leaves my cheek and pushes back into my hair, weaving his fingers through it, it feels so real. “Mulder.” I finally dare to look. I see his outline in the darkness. His finger trails down my neck, up my shoulder. “Am I dreaming?” He touches me gently on my shoulder, down my arm, to my hand, weaving his fingers in mine. “I’m dreaming.”

“If this is a dream, I’m happy you’re having it with me.” He moves to turn on the lamp and I stop him. William is in the bassinet behind him. 

“What are you doing here?” I whisper. 

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” 

I get up on my knees and tackle him in a hug. I squeeze him tight and he reciprocates. I hide my face in my elbow over his shoulder, letting out a silent sob. He cradles the back of my head with one hand when I bury my face in his neck. I laugh and cry from the sheer joy and the overwhelming relief. 

I kiss his neck and try to kiss his jaw, but his embrace is too tight and unrelenting. I stroke the back of his head, letting my fingers run through his hair. It is getting too long. He desperately needs a haircut. I feel the hair at his temple, how it is tucked behind his ear. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask again. I feel the fear rising inside me. I try to push it down. To keep it at bay, because he feels so good. He feels like he’s lost weight, but he is still in peak shape. “You shouldn’t be here.” My brain and my mouth betray every other cell in my body.

He releases his grip on me and runs his hands down the side of my hair before he holds my head. I can barely see him, but I know what’s coming next. No. If he kisses me I will never be able to stop and the fear is rising exponentially. 

“Mulder, you shouldn’t be here.” I repeat.

“It’s ok, Scully. It’s ok.” He soothes, brushing his thumb over my lip.

I tilt my head, wanting to kiss his thumb, pull it between my lips. “Mulder, it’s too dangerous.” 

“It’s ok.” He says desperately. 

“What if you were followed?” I pry myself from his arms, going to the window. I hesitate before I peek outside, looking for any sign of activity. What if someone is coming for him? My maternal instincts are on high alert. 

“I wasn’t.” He says, quietly.

I move to the next window, scanning, searching. I need to go to the living room, look out onto the street. “How do you know? What if they’re watching? It’s Christmas, they’ll expect you’ll come.”

“Scully, I paced outside the front of your building,” he says. “For half an hour. In the freezing cold, I might add.” he deadpans. “If they were coming for me they would have done it already. I would never put the two of you at risk.”

“But, Mulder...” I turn to him. 

His dark form is striped with lines of light squeezing through the slats of the blinds. He has the same look as the day I asked him to leave. He still doesn’t even completely believe there is any real threat. But he would do anything I asked him to if, by even just one iota, I felt more safe. Even leave us. 

The weight of the pain in his eyes on my heart takes my breath away and causes a large lump to form in the back of my throat. 

“I’ve done everything in my power to assure that I brought no danger here tonight. I’ve been travelling for two weeks, under cover of darkness, through...Scully, I swear to you I’ve done everything…” He shakes his head, searching for the magic words that will calm my fear. He gives up, his shoulders slump in resignation. “I just had to see you, I just had to see him. I was losing the will to go on, Scully.” His eyes fall on William, and I know it’s the first time he’s looked upon our child tonight. I can see his jaw clench in another band of light. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, biting his lips to hold it in. 

By the time his eyes return to mine, he has steeled himself, ready for me to tell him he must go. The strip of light across his eyes is like highlighter marking text in a book, the darkness blotting out everything above and below. I imagine returning to my lonely bed, however, and feel resolve that wasn’t really there in the first place slipping away. One night.

I’ve made up my mind but with the only source of light behind me, he cannot see my eyes. He doesn’t know that I made up my mind when his fingers were in my hair. I didn’t even know, but I had all the same. I turn around and after one more glance outside I close all of the blinds. I make my way in the dark to the bathroom and grab a few candles from around the bathtub. 

I don’t know why, but candles seem the best bet. William is sleeping, and I feel safer. If the light isn’t on, how would they know anything is going on? The roles have reversed, and I am now the paranoid one. Better safe than sorry, when you have a child. I am not sure how much longer William will be asleep, he has been a unpredictable for the last week. My guess is anytime between now and an hour from now.

I light one candle in the bathroom and go place it in on one of my nightstands. I place two more around the room, failing to keep my hand steady as I light the last one. I can feel his eyes burning into my back. I know what is coming. 

I turn to face him. His facial hair is longer than I’ve ever seen. Not quite a beard, yet, but considerably longer than the five o’clock shadows of days gone by. He has lost weight, maybe 10 pounds. He wears a blue sweater; presumably he hung his coat at the door. His jeans hang loosely from his hips. It will be not be long before he needs to go down a size, or a belt, assuming he isn’t wearing one now. 

I watch him as he is still taking in my appearance. My hair is longer than he’s ever seen, except maybe when I first met him. I have watched my weight closely, but have filled out in places, notably my face. I no longer train and tone my body, a process I never enjoyed but was necessary for our previous line of work. His eyes are on my breasts now, obviously larger, hanging unrestricted under my silk pajamas. His eyes go from curious observation to a hunger I only saw a handful of times before William was born. 

I feel myself flush, chuckling softly at his reaction to my engorged breasts, feeling the butterflies of anticipation flutter around my whole midsection. As if right on cue, maybe just because I thought of feeding time, or the candles, or perhaps just the change of energy in the room, William wakes. I hear him whimper, then coo, then let out a loud, “baa.” There are usually a small, finite number of baas before the crying begins. 

I move straight to his bassinet, lifting him up. “I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got you.” I lift him up, cradling him in the crook of my arm. “We have a visitor, look who it is.” I turn my body until Mulder is in William’s line of sight. William locks eyes on Mulder, his eyes widening, unaccustomed to seeing anyone but my mother and I for the most part. 

Mulder remains where he stands, swallowing thickly. “I’ve missed a lot,” he croaks. “Haven’t I?”

I move closer to Mulder, offering up the baby’s hand to him. Mulder sticks out his index finger, letting William put a little cap on it, gripping it. The look on MuIder’s face is pure beauty and torture. I feel it because he feels it. 

William makes a few loud noises, curious about Mulder’s finger for a few moments before he pushes it away and clumsily moves his arm to plop his hand down on my breast. He squeezes in the way he does when he’s feeding, continuously murmuring. 

“Smart kid,” says Mulder, obviously making a joke to deflect. He stares at William, barely a leer on his face to indicate that he was actually joking right now. 

“Mulder.” I touch the side of his face with my free hand. “You look like you could use a shower, you look exhausted actually. Let me take care of this and we’ll be here when you get back. Hmm?”

“Yeah,” he says and kisses William’s head, stroking it softly before staring down at him. William begins to fuss loudly. “I know, I know. Shh.” He does not take his son’s reaction to heart, he only looks guilty that he’s kept William from feeding another moment. “I’ll be back.” He says to both of us, taking his bag that he left by the door into the bathroom.

Mulder takes longer than expected, and after William’s feeding and diaper change, he is fading fast. I try once to distract him, to give Mulder some time with him, but he is a sleepy child. Figures, any other night I would have to rock him and coax him back to sleep.

Mulder finally emerges from the bathroom, and I notice that he has shaved, his hair is now combed straight back. He wears a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. He looks around, and fails to hide his disappointment when he sees William has been put down. 

“I’m sorry, Mulder, I tried to keep him up but he wasn’t having it.” I’ve walked over to him and run my hand down his forearm, loosely weaving my fingers in his. 

He nods, “That’s ok, of course that’s ok.” He squeezes our entwined fingers and gives me a tight-lipped smile. 

“I’m going to freshen up.” I return his squeeze before letting go and moving past him, not even daring to kiss him.

In the bathroom, I loosely pull up my hair and take a quick shower, very quickly shaving my legs and underarms. Two day old stubble is not how I want to present myself to Mulder, though I know, deep down, he wouldn’t mind. After the shower I towel off, and apply lotion to my legs. Rubbing the excess into my hands, I look at myself in the mirror. I try to see the woman I was when I first became his. She is there, somewhere, but transformed. I am softer and more feminine. What will Mulder think? 

I’m keeping him waiting. I brush my teeth, dab a small amount of perfume on my pulse points, and pull on my satin robe before emerging to the bedroom.

My heart constricts when I see him reclined on my bed. His hands are behind his head, his legs crossed at his ankles. His large, bare feet are uncovered by socks. He should really be wearing them, as cold as it is outside. The familiarity of him in my bed is a deception. He’s only been here as my lover but the one time. 

I stand there watching him for a moment, studying him, before I realize he may have fallen asleep. I slink towards the bed, hoping selfishly that he is not asleep, my need is rising to new yet old heights. 

When the bed shifts from my weight, he stirs, but his eyes remain closed. “Mmm, Scully?” he asks drowsily. I maneuver myself next to him, on my knees. I lean over him, one hand on either side of his torso. 

I see his eyes moving behind their lids, barely asleep, fighting his way back to me. I stroke his hair before placing my hand flat on his chest. I explore his muscles through thin cotton, then down his abdomen. Unabashed, I snake my hand under his shirt, my heart pounding when I intimately caress him there. My fingertips brazenly stroke down the trail of hair beneath his belly button, under the waistband of his sweats. They do little to conceal his rising need, and he wears nothing beneath them. 

“Scully.” He says my name on a sigh. He rests a hand on my hair, trying to draw my attention away. However, the sight of him in my bed has got me feeling bold, perhaps even wanton. His breath hitches when I take the evidence of his desire in my hand. “Oh...mmm...Scully,” he is slack-jawed. 

I look upon his face and he upon mine through hooded lids. I continue to stroke him, each movement adds to his expansion in my hand, which then in turn adds fuel to my lust. He sees that I want this, to show him everything I can’t even begin to find the words to say out loud. I miss you, I love you, I’m sorry. For asking you to leave and for having to do the same in the morning.

He moves his hand to my shoulder, yielding to my needs. My hand works him and he is receptive. Pliant and compliant. I adjust my hand every few strokes, not letting him get used to any one pattern. He is fully erect now, and I pump him, barely tugging on the head of his penis before releasing, then sheathing him with my hand again. “Scully,” he shivers. 

I withdraw my hand from his sweats and he whimpers. I smile coyly, lifting up the elastic of his pants, pulling them down his hips when he raises them. After they are discarded on the floor, I maneuver myself between his legs. While he removes his shirt, I remove the ponytail holder that loosely holds my hair behind my head and pull it up tighter. 

He lies back, and I know, while he is enjoying himself, he would rather be worshipping me. He always did enjoy that so much more. But my mind is on a mission, and I will not be deterred. Not even by his smoldering bedroom eyes. 

When my hair is in place, I hold him gently in my hand and boldly take him into my mouth. He lets out a groan, mumbling something intelligible, tensing up beneath me. 

“Quiet, Mulder,” I say apologetically. I’d forgotten it has been a while, and he’s grown quite sensitive again. 

“Sorry...shit, sorry,” he is looking in the direction of the bassinet, worried that he may have woken William. But I can hear his breathing and know that he’s not stirred. 

“We’re fine…” I return my mouth to him, more mindful of his sensitivity. After giving him a moment or two to adjust, I have the head fully in my mouth. I sigh through my nose, squeezing the base of his erection gently, softly sucking with my tongue. He is hot and large, swelling more and more. 

I try to take my time on him. His muffled reactions to me gradually become louder, from whispers to strained groans and gasps. “Mmm, Scully, yeah, oh yeah. Feelssogood. Oh, Scully. Scully. Scully.” He emphasizes my name the last time. I’m nearly deep throating him, and whimper in disappointment when he cradles my head, stopping my movements. “Stop, Scully, Jesus.”

He releases my head when he trusts that I won’t continue, and I slowly remove my mouth from him, creating suction on the way up. I move my way up his body, urging him to sit up on the bed. I straddle his hips and he places his hands on my hips over my robe. I rest my forearms on his shoulders and settle comfortably onto his lap. 

I take a moment just to look upon his face, and he does the same. Now clean shaven, I see the weight loss on his face, the toll the last months have taken on him. Had he always had those wrinkles, there? His eyes are alive, but under them are evidence of too many restless nights. 

In the candlelight, the shadows under his eyes are pronounced. I’ve often lain awake at night, wondering if he was dealing with this any better than I was. I see now, that was a foolish thought, and as much as this separation has affected me, it’s had a much deeper impact on him. 

I sigh and kiss his forehead, cursing the reasons for me inflicting this pain upon him. “Mulder,” I say and take his face into my hands, kissing his cheek reverently. “I’m so sorry.” 

He shakes his head and takes my face in his large palms, wordlessly telling me to cut it out.

“We’re running out of time,” he states, a hungry look masking but not concealing the pain in his eyes. He kisses my forehead when I nod in agreement, my hands falling to the sash at my waist. I release the knot and he moves his hands to my waist, beneath the robe now draping from my shoulders. I wrap my arms around his neck, and we move to kiss at the same time.

It is our first kiss tonight. As if a dam just broke, we are overtaken by desire. Control and restraint are gone. Though his toothpaste and the smell of him fresh out of the shower had become familiar once upon a time, I had begun to forget and I feel a rush of endorphins at the sensory reminder. 

Our fingers are tangled in hair. We kiss hungrily, giving and taking control in turn. He caresses my back before breaking our kiss, urging me to sit back with his hands hooked over my shoulders under my robe. He lingers to stare at my breasts for just a moment before planting a hungry kiss between them. 

He moves his mouth over one of my nipples and I flinch. He remains there, gauging my reaction. It is so different from the feel of William’s little mouth there, and I am petrified that I will lactate. Mulder somehow reads my trepidation and kisses gently around my puckered flesh instead, only licking now and again rather than sucking. When he takes the weight of both breasts in his hands, he is gentle, and I know he is holding back. 

The tenderness and infinite thoughtfulness of this man, my partner in every respect, never fail to amaze me. I can’t wait a moment more, and I adjust my hips, hoping he will guide himself inside me. 

But he holds me still while placing a few more lingering kisses on my breasts. Finally, he looks at me and raises my hips, lying down beneath me. I watch him, trying to figure out where he is going, attempting to follow his movements and take him inside this way. Once again, he holds me steady. He looks down at me, positioned over his torso and his eyes burn with want and determination. He runs a finger up the lips once, pushing between them and circling around in my folds and at my opening on the down stroke. I gasp loudly, trying to remain quiet.

The next thing I know, he is scooting down the bed beneath me, maneuvering his arms between my legs then hooking them around to hold my thighs. My eyes are wide when he looks up at me for permission to proceed. 

When Mulder and I first became lovers, I quickly learned that when I let go and trusted him, we really could have the most amazing sex. It added to the experience, giving him freedom to try something new, letting myself run blindly at a situation like I’d watched him do many times in our work.

He gives me a half smile, squinting his eyes, and I remember he’d once told me I was a skeptic by day but at night (or any other time) in his bed, I was a believer of the highest order. 

I watch him and shudder as he scoots the rest of the way beneath me, my core is over his mouth now. He gives my thighs a little squeeze where his hands rest on them, urging me down. “Come here, Scully.” 

The way he says this is enough to push my arousal to new heights and I give, letting him guide me closer. I am momentarily self-conscious, remembering giving birth to William. But I am a medical doctor, and I know there is no basis in this feeling. When his mouth makes contact, all my concerns are gone in a heartbeat. 

As he begins, my hands rest over his on my thighs. I hold still while he reacquaints himself with my most sensitive areas. He gently squeezes my thighs, speaking right up against my lips. “Scully, let go.”

I gasp and my hips buck when I feel his hot breath on me. When he experimentally exhales on me, I whimper, give in and lower my hips, guiding him where I want him. 

This is exquisite, I have complete control of where his mouth is. When a man is between your legs, you can guide him with your fingers in his hair and your words all you want, but this is something else. Soon my fingers are in his hair, just because I want to touch him, no need for guidance. 

I am no longer holding back, moving my hips. Currently his tongue laps at my opening. I adjust and now he flicks my clit with his tongue, sucks it when I offer it to him. His enthusiastic moans are muffled by my flesh. I wonder how well he can breathe, and attempt to raise off of him for a moment. He urges me back down and does something to my clit like nothing I’ve ever felt before. 

I lean forward, try to grip the headboard but my arm falls short. I lean back, reaching blindly for his leg so he shifts and offers it to me. He raises his head from the bed, following where I go. I arch my back, robe still hanging from my shoulders, breasts exposed to the ceiling. I wonder if I have ever felt like more like a woman. I am his woman, and he’s submitted completely, offering me this pleasure. Almost no visual or physical stimulation in return. This is about me. I grind down onto him when he offers his tongue at my opening. I could come right now, if I could just...I flick my clit with my finger, rubbing right up against his nose. God, it felt so much better when I was leaning forward. But I can’t remain upright. 

I feel wound up, ready to explode at any time, I just can’t seem to find the right position. I do lean forward, gathering up pillows for support. I lean on them with one hand, my other is in his hair. I breathlessly encourage him, moving so that he licks my clit, my opening, my clit, my opening, with plenty of stops in between. 

I am quivering above him, gripping the pillow and riding his face. I am right on the edge of something so intense, it brings tears to my eyes. I find my robe with my mouth and bite down into it, briefly wondering why I didn’t just move William to the living room when he was awake. 

When Mulder grips my ass, raising his head to kiss my core with more pressure, that does it and I freefall over the edge, every bit of control relinquished to his love. 

CONCLUDED PART 3


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

 

Even before I open my eyes I know he has gone and the heavy weight of this knowledge settles deep inside of me, constricting my chest as I suddenly find it hard to breathe because although I keep my eyes closed in a desperate attempt to deny what I know to be true, to tell myself that he has simply moved in to another room so as to not wake me from the exhausted, sated sleep that stole upon me as he wrapped his body around mine, I can feel just by the way the air around me has settled once more, no longer pulsing and expanding around me in a way precipitated just by his mere presence within the confines of these walls, within this bed and within the very fibre of me and which has now shrunk back to what it was before, because he has gone.

And if it weren’t for the scent of him that clings to the warm flannel sheets that cocoon me against the chill of this December morning I would question whether he had even been here with me at all, that it had been nothing more than a beautiful dream. But the evidence of our time together assails my senses as I become more aware of the slight tackiness that exists at the juncture of my thighs; the ache deep inside me that speaks of a scant few hours where he came to me in darkness, bringing light and life and renewed hope to me as together we enjoyed a brief reconnection – an affirmation that our time apart had in no way dimmed the fire that has burned between us for so many years. 

The initial need – the hunger within us – had lasted only as long as it took for us both to answer to that need. A need to touch, to taste, to give affirmation of everything we mean to each other. To give each other pleasure without boundaries, that any kind of gentle prelude was not what either of us wanted.

 

But then we had finally come together, two souls reconnecting with an intensity I think surprised us both. An act of love, of joining together that was so intrinsically wonderful that I wanted it to never end. 

The way he used his hands and lips, desperately mapping a course on my skin, kissing me with eyes wide open lest he miss a moment of our stolen time together that was as wrenchingly painful as it was exquisite for the both of us I think. This man who has the singular ability to chase away my demons with a single touch of his hand to my face, smoothing away tears that had gathered in my eyes and which tracked down my cheeks, capturing them before they really had a chance to begin as he hovered above me, the candlelight that surrounded us reflecting back at me and turning hazel in to shimmering golden fire, wordlessly seeking permission that I might give myself to him again.

The uncertainty had been all too evident in the way he tempered his movements, stilled his body and furrowed his brow when I had been unable to suppress a slight grimace as the head of his engorged penis pushed against my tender flesh and although I wanted him – needed to feel the weight of him both on me and inside me – my post partum body responded with painful spasms at the unfamiliar intrusion. A response that, as I had learned from my medical training, was wholly physical in nature. But I had watched an expression of guilt darken Mulders beautiful face, guilt that I was hurting because of him; that he was responsible for causing me pain just as he perceives he always has been and so before he could pull away I slid my hands around his back, smoothing away his tension with broad sweeping strokes against the muscled planes beneath my palms, gentling him in a way that in turn gentled me also. 

Revelling in the familiar strength of him against me as I tilted my pelvis slightly to meet him, breathing with him as I slowly increased the pressure of my hands as I drew him toward me, pressing in to him, opening myself to him as I kept my eyes locked with his, assuring him without needing to speak that I wanted this; that I wanted him. And suddenly, like a switch had been flicked, the resistance was just gone and he slid in to me, unable to prevent the soft guttural moan that escaped his slightly parted lips as I welcomed him back; wrapping my legs around him, holding him against me and sheathing him completely within me needing to feel every inch of him against me, consuming me, making me whole again.

At that moment, as we just held each other I felt a connection to him that transcended anything I have ever felt before; a love so intense that I wanted the feeling to never end. That I might still the moment in time forever even as I realised that it couldn’t be so, and as Mulder brought his lips to rest against my forehead, kissing me so gently, so reverently, I knew that he felt it too. 

 

Our bodies melded together, hearts and minds combined just as they were always destined to be as slowly, gently, languidly we made love as our son enjoyed sweet slumber just a few feet away, the product of another time in another lifetime when for a few brief months I had enjoyed the kind of happiness I hadn’t known could exist. This man; my friend, my protector, my imperfect other who somehow had always known how to find me in the darkness and bring me back and who had come to me when I needed him the most so that we might find brief solace to sustain us during the frighteningly uncertain times that surely lie ahead for both of us as we continue on a path trodden for so many years and which sometimes seems to have no end.

Finally, spent and sated I had lain against him, tracing patterns against his skin with my fingertips as he held me in a strong embrace, neither one of us willing to break the connection right then even though we knew time was running short and the realisation had brought forth fresh tears that scalded my face and seared my soul because I didn’t want to let him go; didn’t know how to let him go. I wanted to beg him to stay, to get down on my knees before him if that’s what it took and beg him not to leave. Or to simply pack up and go with him, to take our son and find a way for us all to disappear; to start afresh in another place where the darkness couldn’t reach us.

But even as I trembled in his arms I knew that what we both wished for could never be - at least not in the short term. Not now that the stakes had become so much higher and the danger to us all so much more pronounced than it has ever been and that I owe it to our son to give him a life free of fear; that I will sacrifice my own happiness to keep him safe because I am his Mother and to allow him to be in danger is inconceivable to me. And so I had just clung to Mulder and cried in his arms as he kissed me gently and tried to soothe me with his touch; to take away my pain even as I felt a quiet desperation radiating from him that matched my own, imploring me with softly whispered words to sleep. 

To just sleep.

And I fought against it for so long, as the candles burned out one by one and we were left with just the muted colour from the spruce tree that somehow found its way through the closed blinds to cast coloured shadows on the ceiling above us because I knew that he would only leave when I was sleeping, that he would not be able to bear to say goodbye to me – to his precious son - for a second time.

And so for Mulder I eventually closed my eyes.

And for Mulder I eventually slept.

Enveloped in his enduring love, my last conscious thought before I fell in to nothingness was the feeling of his body pressed against mine as he curled himself around me and despite everything, it was as wondrous and life affirming a moment as anything I have ever experienced before.

But now he is gone and as much as I want to burrow down in to the sheets, to wrap myself in the comforter that holds on to the scent of us and just close myself off to the reality of it all, I know it’s impossible.

Because it’s Christmas morning and I am expected at my Moms for family roll call and the opening of gifts that hold no real meaning for me as I go through the motions for the sake of William. For our baby son I will find a way to smile through this day.

Because right now, once again he is all that I have.

And so I force myself to sit up, to push back the covers that just a few hours ago had enveloped us in warmth as we clung together beneath them. My legs, when I swing them over the edge of the bed protest mildly, tired and underused muscles that bear witness to the unexpected workout they were given last night; it’s a feeling I welcome because the discomfort is another reminder that he was really here with me; that against all the odds he had found a way for us to be together if only for so brief a time that it barely seems real.

I check on William who is still sleeping contently, his tiny fist curled against his mouth, fingers opening and closing briefly as his dark eyelashes flutter just for a moment before he stills once more and I can’t help but smile because when I see him sleeping like this, all I see in him is Mulder – his Fathers features in perfect miniature – and all I can think is how beautiful he is, how perfect; this precious gift bestowed upon us both. A gift from God at a time when I had almost lost the faith that has always sustained me through my most uncertain times and as much as I am grateful for all Mulder and I gave each other this past night, more than anything I am grateful that even for just a few short hours, he was able to share in the sights and sounds of his baby son as he lay sleeping just a few feet from where we lay.

Our tiny sweet boy who had known his Father for such a short time so far in his young life and who now must surely feel the weight of Mulders love for him; a love that was born from his ultimate sacrifice to help keep us both safe and which I now know will endure even the longest separation.

Reluctantly I turn away from William, unwilling to awaken him before he is ready because I am aware that this will be a long and confusing day for him, wanting him to sleep for as long as he can before I have to start preparing him for his first Christmas with his extended family; glancing just once more at the rumpled sheets that are haphazardly strewn across my bed and it surprises me in a way that I am able to smile against the tide of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. Because this was a gift; a precious and unexpected gift from Mulder that has brought with it a renewed hope for the future that I truly thought I had lost.

When I enter the living room, to my surprise I find he has left me another gift. A small, beautifully wrapped square box that sits at the centre of my kitchen table. 

A wrapped box that, on opening it carefully, I discover a watch. 

An exact replica of the watch I have worn for so many years and which has adorned my wrist through laughter and heartbreak; through injury and through health. A watch that I stopped wearing several months ago after I accepted that it had been damaged irreparably during one of our final cases together; that somehow the acid that had burned our skin and blurred our realities must have found its way in to the casing and slowly corroded the workings within. I hadn’t really thought Mulder had taken much notice – because after all, it was at a time when there were so many more pressing concerns to be addressed than that of a broken watch.

And I feel the tears begin to burn my eyes, blurring the words which he has written on a small piece of paper that he has precisely folded and placed inside the box.

‘Love is begun by the passage of time. Minute by minute, hour by hour love will endure. Because love is, was and always will be eternal. You are my eternal.’

Beautiful words meant just for me, written by a man who somehow, against all the odds has also endured. A man who will one day return to take his place by my side once more just as it has always been meant to be.

And tonight, when this day is almost at an end and William is warm and sleepy in my arms, I will stand at the window and show him the coloured lights on the spruce tree that chase away the shadows and fill the darkness with colour, I will watch his eyes grow wide as he reaches chubby fingers out to try to hold them in his hands. And I will feel his downy soft skin against my lips as I whisper in his ear that sometimes, just sometimes, magic is real.

 

End


End file.
